The FLAMES Under The FLYERS
by etakkate
Summary: Set a month and a half after The Santa in the Slush... who is still reeling from that steamy, season three mistletoe kiss? This is my BONES Valentines gift to you! 3 Shot... NOW COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**This is set approx 1 and a half months after the Santa in the Slush... As usual - I like writing my B &B a leedle OOC. Please let me know what you think.**

 **...**

"Booth my man!" Dr Hodgins strides confidently into my office and pats Booth with an open palm over his acromia whilst lifting his other hand expectantly to fan their faces with… four strips of cardboard? He continues with excitement, "I was just about to ring you. I got seats right on the glass for the Flyers v's Canadiens tomorrow night. You in or what?"

Booth grabs a couple of tickets and his eyes dart back and forth as he reads them; his eyes lighting in a way that sends a jolt of adrenaline through my body.

It really disturbs me how my body reacts to his smile, and ever since Ms Julian bribed me to kiss him under the mistletoe almost two months ago, my visceral responses to his outward pleasure have substantially increased.

It seems that now I've tasted that smile I can't _un-taste_ it… metaphorically that is.

It's an absurd thought: one that's lead me to distraction on numerous occasions… but you've got to admit though – it is a particularly attractive smile… charming… handsome… and _wily_ … he could get almost anything with that smile... and those teeth!

But not from me. No sir, not from me… you see, I know it's simply an evolutionary tactic to manipulate and elevate his socio status amongst his peers, even if it is mostly subconscious, and I refuse to allow myself to facilitate the unrestrained growth of his already overgrown Alpha male ego.

I am stronger than that and I refuse to be beguiled.

But still, there's no harm in admiring it once in a while, right? I'm not blind after all and I am a woman in her sexual _peak_.

"Dr B? You in there? I got you a ticket too… Angie wants you to come."

You see that? Distracted! I offer a gaze lidded, "Hmm?"

Booth's waving an irritating hand in front of my face, "Earth to Bones?"

I hate it when he says that. I don't even know what it's meant to insinuate but he sings it with such a patronizing tone it makes me feel foolish. I catch his hand and squeeze it till he pinches me back... my belly tingles reactively with the contact, "Stop it, Booth! I'm right here."

"Well?" he asks expectantly.

"I don't… I don't know… I've got four chapters I need to submit before Monday."

Booth whinges playfully, I can tell he's gearing up the charm, "C'mon Bones, it'll be fun. It's the finals, I couldn't even get tickets for this game, they were all sold out."

I can't let him win without a fight, "I don't even understand the fundamentals of football, Booth…"

"Hockey, Bones, it's _hock-ey_ , and I'll teach you. C'mon, you've gotta come. It's the game of the year."

He looks at me with those eyes… and if I told you that his smile was hard to resist then you should feel the pull of his deep coffee stare when he wants something. I sigh with exasperation; I should have known I'd only end up saying yes, "Fine."

He fist pumps the air with childish excitement, "Woo hoo, we're going to the finals, Baby!"

I grab a ticket out of his hand and I can't help but smile at Booth's excitement but then in the next moment I notice the edges of his mouth drop in an almost imperceptible tell of disappointment, "So ah, this would have costed you a pretty penny. I'll pay you back on payday Bug Man."

Hodgins shakes his head, "No, no, don't worry about that man, I've got it covered."

Booth, as proud as ever, refuses to back down, "No really, I'm good for it."

The scientist rubs his chin and thinks, "Well, there is a _leedle_ something you could do that would mean more to me than money."

"Name it."

"Well, it's Angie's birthday coming up and I wanted to get her something that money can't buy."

Booth's brows furrow and I'm beginning to think that's a look of suspicion written across his face, "Yeah? What did you have in mind?"

Hodgins smiles and points to me then back at Booth, "You've gotta kiss her."

We both reply with an almost matching frantic tone, "What!?"

Hodgins nods, seeming to get more excited by the thought, "Yeah… on the lips… for at least 5 Mississippi's."

I'm instantly panicking… the thought of Booth's lips on mine again would most likely send me over the edge, "No! I'll _buy_ the tickets."

Booth's eyes widen, "What, No! It's fine, Bones, they're sold six months in advance. We can do this."

Like hellfire it's fine! "No, Hodgins, let's talk about this."

Booth whines, "No, Bones, c'mon, I really want to see this game. It'll be like kissing a work colleague… or, or two French people passing in the street… totally sexless."

I'm sure my face is burning bright red; I can't believe he's using my words against me! "Booth, no!" I try to scold him under my breath but he's clearly taken with the idea… God knows why… he appeared so adamantly against it the last time.

"What, are you scared you'll like it, Bones?"

I manage to choke out a strangled scoff, "Pfff! You wish!"

He eyes dance with mischief, "Oh, you are too!"

"I am _not_!"

He tickles my chin and sings with an infuriatingly teasing lilt, "Little Bonesy Wonesy is scared of a little kissy wissy!"

I slap his hand away; ire rising uncontrollably within me, "Don't be ridiculous!"

He tries to get out another series of taunts but is cut short when I grab him by the lapels and pull his lips to mine.

Smug bastard!

Take this you egotistical, arrogant… piece of… shit… charming… heart melting… delicious…

Dear… God…

His lips are warm and alive and welcome mine with enthusiasm; he tastes like chai and cinnamon and sex… totally _not_ sexless and totally _not_ like kissing my brother! And if French people meet like this in the street then I understand now why Angela loves Paris so much.

I feel like my entire skeletal system has just been rendered gelatinous.

Then his tongue dips to taste mine and he _hums_ into my mouth, gripping both hands at the small of my back, pulling me impossibly closer… and thank the mythical sky gods for that as I would have surely melted into a hormonally charged puddle at his feet if he hadn't.

The resonance of his pleasured hum fires straight to my belly and, by God… I'm surprised my body's not audibly ringing like a sharply struck tuning fork.

And then from across the ocean of blissful thoughtlessness, I hear Hodgins clearing his throat and I fling back from Booth like he's the scolding burn of hot coffee on my tongue.

The entomologist tries to hide a chuckle and a cough with a fist to his lips, "Um, yeah, well that's really great and all guys but Angela's not here and that's the whole point of the birthday present."

Somehow, though shaking, I manage to grab my purse before replying on my way out; ignoring the stunned look on Booth's face, "That will have to do Dr Hodgins… I'll see you at the game, Booth."

...

 **Oh dear! What's going on here!? Let me know if your want more (it's almost all written but I need your feedback to know I'm on the right track!)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you sooo much for your reviews - you guys are amazing!**

 **I always look at Brennan as being like a duck swimming up stream... she looks calm and collected above the water but her little mind flippers flap frantically beneath the surface. So she may be a little OOC in this fic but I kinda like writing her that way. Also, I'm using complete poetic license when it comes to hockey... I know nothing about it and apologize in advance if it shows.  
**

 **I hope you like it ;)**

 **I don't own Bones.**

 **...**

I haven't been able to sleep since that kiss.

…oh, who am I kidding?! I have barely been able to _breathe_ since his lips left mine, as much of a _complete_ impossibility _that_ is!

Kissing Booth is like a drug and I became addicted to that years ago… after only _one_ hit. Now I'm screwed (in the vernacular).

Hell, it took a whole year for me to attempt to be in the same room as him after the last time it happened. I should have known better. I'm a rational scientist after all and I know how addiction works… It's a chemically provable complete lack of self-control and I'm clearly lost in the ocean without a paddle (or whatever the colloquial phrase is).

The hockey game is in an hour.

I considered not going but I've been avoiding his texts all day and if I don't attend then Booth will surely think that he has affected me on a deep level… which he _hasn't_ … and he _won't_. I will remain _completely_ unaffected by his kiss. After all, it's just a kiss… it's not like he _feels_ anything for me… he just wanted tickets and I aided with that… by allowing him to kiss me… and almost literally and momentarily _dissolving my entire skeletal system…_ but I digress… and I'm resorting to hyperbole like a love struck teenager.

He did help me out when Dad wanted the trailer for Christmas though. That's why it's really no big deal. That's what partners do; right? They step up to the plate and kiss each other when they're bribed by co-workers or the like.

It's no big deal.

I take a taxi because for some reason I'm a little too distracted to drive. I know that I'm thinking too much into this but it feels rather like a date. Even though I know that Booth is strictly platonic and does not feel anything romantic towards me at all.

We are just friends… and partners… who _kiss_ each other sometimes. It's _really_ no big deal.

My hair is wavy and loose and topped with a delicate grey knit beanie. It's a chilly, particularly windy night and though my light blue blouse is low cut and fitted (what? Can't a woman in her sexual prime flaunt it a little?), I have matching grey knit mittens and a long scarf draped loosely over my coat. The lady who sold me the crocheted set insisted that this _particular_ shade of grey (she said it was the 51st shade of 'grey'… though I'm actually not sure that's factual according to Pantone)… anyway, she assured me that this precise shade of grey made my eyes 'pop'… not literally of course, but I smudged a little more charcoal at the base of my lashes to ensure that I was appropriating the 'look' she suggested… I must admit… against my porcelain skin, it really does make my eyes 'luminescent' to some degree.

'Whilst I still don't believe in the tangibility of gut feelings, I do believe it's quite intriguing how, even in a room full of noise and distractions, nine times out of ten, Booth will always make eye contact with me before I make my presence known to him.

Tonight is loud and crowded and he's at least a full row of seats adjacent to me; there's absolutely no possible way he could hear, smell or see me from this distance but, as I expected, he turns around as if he has sensed me somehow and our eyes lock instantly.

As ludicrous as it sounds, it feels for that moment as if we are the only two people in the stadium… his eyes are dark and seemingly brooding… although surely I'm just projecting my innate desires and romanticizing the whole scenario. But, still… a few moments after he spots me his face visibly brightens and his mouth grows into an almost chuckling Boothy grin as he waves me over to the seat beside him.

He genuinely looks _happy_ to see me… in a completely platonic way I'm sure.

"Heya Bones! I'm glad you came."

I'm taken off guard when he pulls me in for an impromptu sideways hug and I go uncomfortably rigid at his unintentional public display of affection. I avoid his grasp by attempting to sit, "I told you I would see you at the game, Booth."

He sits down beside me and he studies me a while before tugging on my scarf playfully, "This is cute." Then my heart beats a little faster when he gently scuffs the tip of my nose with his thumb. His eyes lose their playfulness and darken, "You look real pretty, Bones…"

My face flushes.

He grins again; the smug bastard… he's got to know what he does to me as he changes tone – almost singing teasingly, "…what with your red nose 'n all."

I shake my head softly and look down to hide the red glow. I wish I could control this betraying body of mine.

"It's particularly cold outside… that's why I have…" I lift my mitten clad hand up to my nose self-consciously, "I assume that's why my nose is red."

He pulls my hand away from my face and holds it between the two of his, rubbing gently to warm it up (in a purely nonsexual way… of course.)

… I add my other hand to his... because it's cold too.

"Hey don't be embarrassed, you wear red noses better than anyone I know."

I smile and look up at him tentatively through my lashes. He looks strikingly handsome tonight – all in black except for an orange and white scarf. I assumed that he'd be head to toe clad in his team's paraphernalia as a symbol of support but it seems he's only wearing their colours. I find that rather… attractive… and I cannot honestly pinpoint why.

"So, where's Hodgin's and Angela?"

"Angela didn't ring you?"

"Well, she did… but I…"

"Oh well it seems they've got a tummy bug… real sick… the both of them… driving the porcelain bus."

Who's is the porcelain bus, I wonder. And why does it seem as though he's not telling me the whole truth? "Oh. Okay. I hope they convalesce swiftly."

"Yeah, me too… this is fun though, right… you and me… at a hockey game?"

And if I didn't know Booth like I do the palm of my hand… I would not have noticed the slight waver in his voice, or the nervous spring in his right knee; but I do, and it makes me wonder what I'm not picking up on… because I'm used to the feeling of not picking up on innuendos… but I'm _not_ used to missing things when it comes to Booth.

The game gets underway and, whilst I don't quite follow the tenets of the sport as most fans would, Booth lives up to his promise by whispering explanations into my ear all through the first two parts of the game… every vibration of his voice eliciting goose bumps up and over my arms… thank his mythical sky gods that the horripilation on my arms is disguised by my blouse.

He buys me three beers to his four and by the second break, I'm rather _floppy_ … and relaxed… and, with his arm around me, it feels like a reasonably efficient use of our spaces for me to rest my head on his shoulder… this is purely rational mind you. Logically it makes complete objective sense to reduce the distance between his lips and my ear… so that he can communicate the intricacies of the game more efficiently.

About halfway through my second break peanuts, I notice a heart-shaped stencil on the vacant seat beside me… then I look toward Booth and notice the same insignia on the seat beside him. I have but a moment to contemplate this (and link it to the fact that it is now Valentine's day) before music blasts suddenly from the speakers and I feel Booth tense up beside me.

 _"Hey! He-ey Ba-by! I wanna know oh hoh, if you'll be my girl!"_

You know when you bite into something and it floods you with a memory, an emotion or a feeling? It's completely scientifically explainable, I assure you.

I recall plucking a plump bright-red roma tomato off of a vine in the Southern region of Jalapa, Guatemala and when I bit into it…whilst I understand the science behind the feeling (it's the simple yet complex relationship between the hippocampus and the insular cortex), it was as if I couldn't breathe from the emotions that the taste invoked…

The taste, smell, texture, the crack and tear of the flesh over my teeth took me right back to passata day… a day where our friends in the local Italian community gathered to make passata together in bulk. My fourth grade friend Maria invited me one year and I enjoyed it so much I returned year after year until my parents left.

I guess this is how I feel now… but it's almost entirely auditory…

 _"Hey! Hey Ba-by! I wanna know oh hoh, if you'll be my girl!"_

It not just the memory that hits me… it's… it's _visceral_ … after almost 20 years I can still _smell_ it even… freshly popped popcorn and butter from the silverside roast pot covered haphazardly with tin foil… and… and _Aqua Net_ Professional _Hairspray_. Dad was the undisputed chef and Mom was the artistic hair stylist.

I must have been eleven or twelve. I wasn't a child known to let loose but I remember so clearly a film called ' _Dirty Dancing'._ It had just been released and my Mom was so very obsessed by it that she bought the VCR and spun me around the living room every time she watched it… I was _Baby_ … that's why no-one calls me _baby_ but my Mom.

It was one of the fullest, most… pungent memories I've allowed myself to remember –skipping around the living room, giggling openly with my bliss-faced beauty of a mother, in our teased up hair and fluro lycra tights.

… I guess that's why I'm dancing in my seat; smiling and almost giggling at the sound of that particular song – booming through the arena speakers.

I look up at Booth and his eyes are set on mine – round with a juxtaposition of amusement, affection and… _fear_? Then again, I've never been good at reading people but he does look rather angst ridden.

I smile… he's so adorably cute when he's stressed, "Hey! What's wrong, Booth?"

I hear a wave of cheering around us; he smiles cautiously and whispers into my ear, "Do you trust me?"

I nod, then move so my forehead is resting against his (Of course I trust you, you dim wit!), "Yes."

Then without warning, he dips in and draws my lips against his… no warning… literally _no_ warning at all!

Then his hand somehow makes its way to the back of my neck and he twines his fingers into my hair and he fists it with just enough strength to send the most delightful shiver down my spine.

He kisses me thoroughly, moulding me inexplicably closer to the warmth of his mouth and the tempting stroke of his tongue… and it's an overwhelming quixotic blend of the sum of all three prior kisses... timed by a googolplexianth. Without Ms Julian, Dr Hodgins or any other scheming spectators, I lose myself in the heat of it.

My lungs are burning with the need to breathe and I'm seriously all but drowning here…

…and I begin to realise that I _love_ it! I could certainly fit this type of activity into my schedule… at very regular intervals.

I begin to truly to yield to his expressions when he pulls back with a grin… the crowd erupts around us and to my complete mortification I look up to the stadium screens above us and Booth and I are red faced, breathless and suspended within a crude love heart border… complete with the words "V'day Kiss Cam"… whatever the hell _that_ means.

All I know is that one minute I'm dancing in my seat to one of the purest memories I can claim and then the next I'm metaphorically swept off my feet for the first time in my life (yes, I know I am seated: it's a idiomatic expression).

And now… I'm positively humiliated… worse than that time Andy Fluger cut off my pigtail in front of the entire school and read aloud the private, heart-baring poem I wrote to him… no, this is without a doubt the most humiliated I've been.

The crowd is now whistling and cheering and my eyes burn with threatening tears... in fact, I'm pretty sure I am crying but I'm too shocked to check.

I do the only thing I think I am capable of doing in this particular state of distress… I run.

 **Oh dear! How's Booth going to fix this one? Do you want the final chapter to see?  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's the final chapter! Please tell me if you like it!**

 **For some reason my story didn't re-load when I posted the second chapter so please, if you feel the need, review chapter two also... it's feeling a little lonely ;)**

...

"Bones! Bones, wait!"

Keep walking Temperance, that's right, one foot in front of the other… God, I'm shaking and there's not a cab in sight. I swipe at the incessant tears. This is so very out of character for me. Snap out of it Temperance!

"Bones! Temperance, _please!_ "

I slip at little on the icy footpath but am caught in the strong arms of my partner. Arsehole! Why does he have to be so… so… ugh… always right there! I struggle to get out of his grip but he pulls me into his arms and despite my stubborn resolve to not let him see me vulnerable, I surrender… because it's so God damn freezing out here and it's my evolutionary prerogative to not die of hypothermia!

My shivering subsides as he wraps my coat around my shoulders and rubs my back with strong steady strokes.

"You left your coat, mittens and scarf inside, Bones. You'll freeze to death out here without them."

I struggle against his strength. I hate feeling so exposed to him.

"Yeah well maybe I'm fine with that Booth, now let me go."

He squeezes tighter, typical! Bully of a man!

"Bones! Calm down! What's gotten into you?"

I lift my head off of his chest and my eyes bore into his with what I can only imagine to be pure rage, "What's gotten into _me._ What's gotten into _me?_ What's gotten into _you_ , Booth? It's one thing to use me to get tickets to your precious game but then you go and make a public spectacle of us by practically molesting me in front of an arena full of people just so you can get on television!"

He pulls back and holds me by the arm. I notice my gloves in one of his hands so I snatch them off him and begin to pull them on angrily as he almost yells a retort, "Molest you? Jesus, Bones, were you even there? If I remember correctly, you weren't exactly screaming to get away!" He pokes me angrily in the sternum, " _You_ enjoyed it! Don't tell me you didn't!"

I finally manage to rid myself of his grip and tug my scarf from his other hand; slipping then steadying myself on the slicked snow, "That's beside the point entirely!" the anger then drains from my body and I surprise myself by how much hurt is reflected in my voice; and once again I'm crying… stupid traitorous lacrimal glands. "You've got to know how I feel about you, Both and, still, you _used_ me."

I sniffle and wipe my nose before spotting a taxi pulling into the rank.

It's not until I'm in the heated space of the cab that I recall the shocked look on his face and if I'm not mistaken, I think there may have been tears in his eyes also… though it could have just been the bite of the cold night air… I guess I'll never know for sure.

…

It's not until I've had a good, long, thawing soak in the bath and I'm dressed in a set of pink flannel pyjamas that I hear a loud knock on my front door.

Surely he doesn't have the gall to rub more abrasives into my metaphorical wounds? It's close to midnight.

"Bones! Let me in! I know you're in there!"

I cover my swollen, red eyes and shake my head in a subconscious gesture of shock… he's suicidal… surely he realises the danger of talking to me right now!

I figure it's best for both of us if I wait him out so I sit silently on the sofa. He continues knocking for a while until there's silence and I feel a welcome sense of relief until I hear the locks tumble into place and curse myself for giving him a spare key and not putting the chain across.

He has the limited courtesy to call out before he enters, "Bones, I need to talk to you."

My angry voice pierces the almost darkness of the living room, "I've done enough talking for the night, Booth."

He walks in hesitantly with his palms facing me in a surrendering signal, "Then let me talk, please."

I fold my arms over my chest and look past him, "Fine."

He sighs and sits tentatively on the coffee table in front of me. Our knees are touching and I can already feel my resolve leaching out through our joined appendages… how does he _do_ this to me?!

He leans forward and I can just make out the soft expression of his face, "Bones…" he clears his throat, "…Temperance, listen, I'm sorry, okay?"

My voice is terse, "It's fine."

He shakes his head and reaches for my hands. I stiffen but then slowly begin to relax a little as he rubs his thumbs gently over the skin above my fingers, "No, no it's not fine, Bones and I… I want to make it up to you."

I inject a little venom into my voice to make up for the fact that his ministrations are stirring all sorts of arousal inside my body, "And how do you suggest you do that, huh?"

He smiles… _smiles!_ Oh the self-righteous arrogance of him! How can one man turn me on so sexually and irritate the absolute shit out of me all at the exact same time? He's the epitome of cognitive dissonance… a _moronic_ oxymoron!

But he continues softly, "By being honest… and by growing balls enough to tell you what I should have told you a long time ago."

"And what's that exactly? Can I borrow $400 for hockey tickets, _Bones_? Or how about, I'm sorry for teasing you and giving you the wrong idea by kissing you on national television."

He chuckles at my out of character use of sarcasm and looks down at our hands, shaking his head slightly, "No… nope…" When he looks back up at me, his eyes are dark and serious and a flush of adrenaline radiates from my core, "I… I _love_ you, Bones… there… that's what I should have said."

He takes a deep breath in through his nose and blows it out through pursed lips as he squeezes my hands, he's clearly nervous, "I'm _in_ love with you, Temperance and I'm sorry that I've acted like a childish SOB instead of being truthful with you."

I ah… okay… hmmm… let me gather my thoughts here a little… _breathe_ , Temperance. My heart is pounding in my ears and my shoulders slump a little because, once again I think my bones have miraculously turned to jello, "You…"

"Love you, yes."

My head tips to the side and my brow furrows. I open my mouth to speak then close it again before trying again, "You love me in… in a…"

He nods and smiles a tiny, nervous smile, "Romantic way, yes… _totally_ not sexless, Bones, totally _not_ sexless."

I nod… my thoughts have completely escaped me and yet I'm nodding like a crazy woman, "Hmmm. Okay, okay… I guess that makes sense now… I accept that."

He laughs nervously and looks to our hands again, "So, ah, you accept that… soo…"

He's prompting me to say something… what exactly I don't know, "Am I required to reciprocate at this juncture with a similar expression of love?"

"Hah! No… noo, not unless..."

"Because I can."

His eyes spring to mine and he manages a whispered, "Yeah?"

I smile… probably my first genuinely happy smile in a long, long time… perhaps even since Dirty Dancing, popcorn and hairspray.

"Yes, I do."

His face brightens like the sky at dawn, just at that first exact moment after the sun peaks over the horizon…

"Wow… really?"

For all his arrogance and ego, Booth actually doubts that I am madly and deeply in love with him? I rub my flannelette covered knee against his suggestively, "Yeah, Booth… want me to prove it to you?"

He laughs and without bribery… or spectators… or the fear of this going somewhere serious… he kisses me… and doesn't stop till morning.

…

…

…

…

A grey faced Angela is sat next to her fiancé on the couch. They're both shivering and nursing buckets in the dim, stippled light of the television. Angela's not much into sports but there's nothing else on television and she's too sick to even think about sex… which is what she'd usually suggest when there's nothing on television.

She's half-heartedly watching the game of hockey that they were meant to go to tonight when she begins to wonder if she's hallucinating. She stands on shaky feet and watches wide eyed as her best friend is practically devoured by her partner on national television…

"Bren- _nan!_ You've got some 'splainin' to do girlfriend!"

Hodgins merely grins, pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to an outspoken yet frighteningly creative federal prosecutor…

 _"It worked Caroline… you're a genius!"_

 _..._

 ** _Please, please, please hit the review button on your way out! (you've gotta give me bonus points for actually finishing a story, LOL)  
_**

 ** _Thanks for reading peeps!_**


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